‘How long have you …’ he sought out the words, ‘how long have you been like this?’ Nefyn’s face hardened, afraid to look at him for what she might see in his eyes.

‘I told you the truth …’

‘And your brother?’

Nefyn shook her head. ‘He’s not like me.’

‘You have gifts?’

Nefyn thought for a moment.

‘Joseph doesn’t see it like that.’

Hamza shook his head.

‘You can’t live like this … You can’t let your brother … Nefyn … look at me …’

Nefyn turned her eyes, looked at him, her expression darkening.

‘I watched what this world did to my mother, and it will happen to me,’ she said.

Hamza shook his head.

‘That is not your future. Is this enough, Nefyn? How many years have you been hiding?’

She was looking at him now.

‘It’s not enough for me, and I doubt if it is enough for you.’

Nefyn’s eyes were drawn back to the water. They listened to the far-away sea. ‘I don’t even know if there’s anyone left,’ she said. Hamza smiled, took her hand, pressed his thumb to her palm. Mapped the veins of her inner wrist, blue under her transparent skin like underground rivers.

‘You know, when we got married, I gave Fatima a globe, a globe of the stars. They used to think that each star had its own sphere, that each one circled the Earth untouched and untouching.’

Nefyn watched as he circled her wrist with his fingers.

‘But stars, they collide, they move, are never fixed … Making them appear so makes us feel better, but they stray into each others’ paths, feel the pull of others, and that is the wonder of it.’

Nefyn felt the warmth of him on her right shoulder. His closeness. A shared silence that seeped into them both as they sat precariously on a cliff edge.

25

Shipwright ♦ Saer llongau ♦ Sanie alsufun

EMRYS WAS DRAWN TO the boat, his hands feeling the way like a blind man. He let his fingers move over her surface, relying on instincts and old, old memories, the ones that were old enough not to have left him. He had been a shipwright, a maker of vessels. Efa watched him as his whole body became transfixed by the boat.

He knew her, too, had worked on her with Nefyn’s father. Had perfected her lines, her balance. They had used some wood from a successful boat that they had finished breaking to bring her good fortune. Emrys greeted her warmly, like an old lover, his palms conducting a holy communion. He smiled as he took the damage in, her age, her weakened surfaces, and Efa felt a pang of something akin to loss as she watched him.

‘Do you think you can make her seaworthy?’ Hamza asked. Emrys smiled.